


No Family Man

by JokeringCutio (Breakingthestandards)



Category: Joker (2019)
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Dark, Drama, Dubious Consent, F/M, Family, Impregnation, Parents, Pregnancy, Reader Insert, Reader is of age when relationship talk ensues, Reader starts underaged, pseudobulbar effect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-02-01 01:49:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21321244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Breakingthestandards/pseuds/JokeringCutio
Summary: You met Arthur when you were just in high school, but by the time you got into university, you knew you'd fallen for him.But then, when your parents moved, you lost him.  Little did you know he would return for you.And to give you that baby you once said you wanted.Warnings: Kidnapping, DubCon, Joker's personality being mangled even worse. Dark themes.
Relationships: Arthur Fleck/Reader, Arthur Fleck/You, Joker/You
Comments: 5
Kudos: 224





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Dear reader, this work started out as a very elaborate imagine on tumblr, to fill the requested prompt: "Arthur/Joker x Reader. Age Difference and how it affects reader and parents view of him. Perhaps some baby talk? ". After receiving requests for more parts, I decided to rewrite it into a fic.

The first time you notice him is when you are on your way home from high school. You have the feeling someone’s watching you and look around you. That’s when you see a man looking back at you. His frame is thin, his cheeks hollow and his shoulder-length hair tangled. He’s standing still on the sidewalk at the opposite side of the road. You notice his eyes, such a beautiful vibrant green, and his long hair – a trait you’ve always found very attractive. He’s carrying a white bag in his hands. You must be blushing because your cheeks burn. Uncertain how to react, feeling these odd feelings, you quickly turn away and continue on your way home. It is a Thursday.

Next time you see him is another Thursday on your way home. Same time, same route home. He’s there again and you notice him instantly. Only this time you realise he’s carrying home a bag of medicine from the apothecary. You wonder if it’s for him or if he’s taking care of someone else. Whoever it is for, you hope they get well soon.

You fall into a routine of walking home and noticing that man somewhere along your route. You realise he is probably much older than you had thought at first.

Then one day, you’re on the same bus as him. You can't help but to keep stealing glances at him, and every time you find him staring back at you. The corners of his mouth twitch, as if he's supressing a smile. But then your halt comes up and you leave the bus. When you glance over your shoulder you can see he's still inside, but you can't see if he's still looking your way.

It takes a couple of rides before you sit next to him on the bus and have the courage to actually speak to him. At first he stutters and you feel the need to apologise, just trying to make light conversation with him.

He is the one who introduces himself to you first. You feel obliged to give your name after.

You regularly start talking when you meet him, _Arthur_, on the bus, or when you’re walking home from school.

Sometimes Arthur starts to laugh or is on the verge of crying, but by some miracle his outburst are kept hidden from you during these many short meetings.

Over the years you get to know him better. He seems harmless enough.

One day on the bus, you tell him about your birthday coming up. Next time you see him he has brought you a self-made present. One of those little tiny canvasses that cost a few cents at that cheap shop, with a self-painted image of a clown on it. It’s sloppy and clowns scare you, but you don’t tell him that. You thank him and he smiles.

Your friendship deepens. He sometimes walks you home now. That’s how your parents get to see him. At first they are surprised, but to their credit they don’t forbid your odd friendship with him.

You know he is lonely and start meeting up with him in cheap public places just to talk.

Your brother and your friends warn you, saying that there’s something odd about him.

You always meet in public settings. Although you try to get to see his home he never lets you.

You think something must be up, for him to be in his early forties and still live at home with his mum, working a job with minimum wages. But he’s your friend, right? You like him.

One day after he brought you home your mum takes you to the side and asks you if you could consider his feelings. She tells you Arthur looks at you like a man in love, and at his age he might not have that many chances left. You frown and tell her that perhaps, _perhaps_ you’re interested in him too. She warns you gently that something is odd about him and to think about what you want carefully. She doesn’t stop you from seeing him though, only tells you that if you want to see him ‘that way’ to take things slow and be careful. You think it's cute that she takes Arthur's well-being into account. After all, she asked you to be gentle with him, with _his_ feelings. You think you love your mum even more after this short talk.

When you graduate, Arthur asks you what you’ll do next. He looks upset as he does so, but can’t help but to laugh when you tell him you go to the only university Gotham has to offer. The university is a long way away. Your schedule changes but that doesn’t mean you stop seeing Arthur, and so you tell him.

He finally invites you to his house.

Your mum and dad know where you’re going. You're not stupid. This is your first time meeting with Arthur in his home, no public place. You scribbled his address on a card for your parents just in case. Although you suspect he will be nothing but kind to you.  
  
Once in his home, you're surprised to see it's much smaller than you had initially anticipated, most certainly after he had told you he still lives with his mum. The space is cramped, it smells old, musky. Arthur’s mum is lovely. When she’s to bed, the two of you stay up talking. Without much ado you ask him about his wishes for the future. You literally ask “Do you have any children? Do you want some someday?” because you literally know nothing about if he had any girlfriends previously. And he is already in his forties. And he is so sweet. A man like him has to have had his chances, right? If he doesn't have any children, does that mean he never wants them? Because you feel you do. Whenever you see him, you _feel_ it deep inside of your tummy.   
  
But your question seems to shock him. Arthur turns away, his eyes wide, his jaw slack before it twitches into a hooked and painful grimace.

He assures you he never had a relationship or kids, but the topic makes him laugh uncontrollably. You know something is wrong, can see that he feels miserable although he never quite told you about his medical condition in detail. You apologise and say the question might have been too quick.  
  
Once he’s caught his breath he asks you if that’s what you want and you say _yes_. You would like a family in the future.

If you start this, whatever it is that you and Arthur could have, you want to know you're not wasting either of your time. He isn't that young, you aren't that experienced. Better be on the same line and know which direction you're heading. _Right?_

Arthur winces and then roughly takes your hand. He drags you to the drug cabinet in the bathroom and shows you all the medication he’s on. It is a shock to see so many boxes with pills. You know he visits the pharmacy on a weekly base but you had always assumed that most if it had been for his mother. A nasty feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. So the others had been right all along, your brother, your parents, your neighbours. This man was ill, and not just a little.   
  
“That’s why I won’t ever have kids.” He says, his voice harsh and eyes even harsher. But you know his anger is a result of the powerlessness he must feel. “What child would want me as a father?" he groused, "I am wrong, ill." And as he shows you the boxes with pills in his hands he nearly shoutes at you, "Mad in the head.” Is that something you think you can cope with?  
  
You don't know. You honestly don't know what to say. 

Arthur throws the boxes and bottles with pills into the washing basin before he plops down on the closed toilet seat. You are shocked when he starts to tell you all about him. His youth, his past, and how it had led him to be how he was today. Now you finally know about his condition and how it was caused. You should have reacted differently, but you go home, only telling him you need some time and asking him to understand.

_It doesn’t take long to decide you still want to get to know him better, make this idea of a relationship work. But telling Arthur seems impossible._

After your visit at his house, Arthur has clearly become scared of your reaction to his revelation, probably thinking you don’t want him anymore now that you know. You try and see him, but he’s not there on your route home now that you travel different times from uni. You even visit his home now that you know where he lives. One time when his mum answers the door you swear you can hear him, hiding behind the corner, though she claims he is at work.

Days turn into weeks. Your father tells you that your family is going to move to a different part of Gotham. It’s an opportunity that can’t be missed. You will be closer to your uni.

Arthur has gathered his courage, and when you see him again, the first thing that escapes your lips isn’t what you really wanted to say, about giving you two as an item a go. You tell him about the move instead. Arthur starts laughing and turns away from you. He’s gone before you can tell him about your feelings for him. Confused, you return home. Perhaps this was how it was meant to be.

\--

In the two years that follow, Arthur remains on your mind. Most of all when boys from your classes try to chat you up. You can’t help but compare them to Arthur, preferring the older man to these students. But then you tell yourself it would_ not_ have worked out.

You miss the new video that’s all the rage. The one of a stand-up comedian.

Your uni mixed up and you have to follow a lot of evening courses now, despite being a full-time student.

You stop breathing when one day, you come home late from university to see how Arthur is on the news, dressed as a killer clown. You can only think how lucky you are that you’re not still involved with him. God knows what he would have done to you if this was the dangerous man he had become now.

Life goes on as usual. Despite chaos in Gotham. You get in touch with an old schoolmate. She tells you about the medicine she handed out to Arthur Fleck before he’d gone insane. You try not to think of it too much.

\--

One evening, when you come home from an evening course, your house is eerily dark and quiet. There’s an odd scent in the air, one of smoke. One that reminds you of Arthur.

When you enter the living room and switch on the light, the Joker is sitting in your father’s armchair, smoking, waiting for you. He smirks and then laughs when you instinctively grab for your heart. You fear he might have killed your parents.

“Hello sweetheart.”

Joker is _not_ Arthur. _Not at all_, and yet they _are_ the same.

You’re confused.

He tells you to come with him quietly without making a fuss or he _will_ kill your family. You take it they must still be alive, not knowing they lay drugged in their beds.

You take his hand and let him take you away from your home while he whispers bittersweet promises into your ear.

“Do you still want that baby, _baby_?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry of what I did.

“You sick man,” the male’s voice is hoarse with emotion. “You sick, twisted bastard!”

Joker’s lips twitch and curl upward on their own accord. You know this is another bout of unwanted laughter coming up and you’re grateful when the camera cuts back to the studio. The female anchor seems to be uncomfortable. Angry lines have formed on her face and she doesn’t as much look at the camera but rather scowls at it. She is visibly angry, disgusted even. Behind her a picture appears in a squared frame.

“So after police caught the Joker a midweek ago, agents found three children locked up in his secret hideaway.”

You avert your eyes.

“Where’s my mommy?” The panicking voice of your toddler son makes you turn away from the television fully.

“I’m here,” you answer, loud enough for him to hear. Still you can hear his panicking sounds from the room next door. And so you turn back to the man and woman questioning you.

“I have seen enough,” you tell the officers. They look at you sympathetically before switching the screen to black. “I need to see my kids.”

The female officer nods, but the male officer replies. “Sit down, miss. You will be united with your son and daughter after you tell us what happened to you. What happened when you were with the Joker?”  
  


And so you close your eyes, take a deep breath, and tell them.

\--

There aren’t three children. The police know that. His lawyer knows that. The Joker knows that.

After he snatches you from your home, Arthur brings you to a secret place. You don’t see where it is, not knowing it’s in one of the forests close to Gotham.

When _Arthur_ finally removes the blindfold you find yourself in a dingy old house. But one with an extended cellar. It gives you the creeps to see your surroundings, to see your new home for the very first time, and you wonder how long he must have had this all planned.

You hear his chuckles behind your back. “Well, do you like it?” His words don’t sound as confident though. His voice wavers, as if he is on the verge of breaking. And you fear he would just do that if you say the wrong thing.

“I,” you hesitate, taking in how spacious the room is. There’s a hallway at the end, and a little adjacent bathroom. Like a luxurious apartment but then underground. “It’s cosy.”

His chuckling doesn’t fade but he at least seems to tolerate your answer. “It is, isn’t it?”

Your eyes drift across the room. The cream-white walls, the dark carpet underneath your feet. But what really freaks you out, other than having been kidnapped and brought to a serial killer’s cellar, is the crib in the middle of the room. Why on earth was that there?

You turn to gaze up at Arthur only to find him staring back. He’s only a step behind you and you have to look up at him. He’s that tall. Or you are that small. Who cares, when he’s up close you notice the height difference. A difference that had once made you feel secure when he walked you home. But now it made you feel little.

You hate that make-up on his face. It suits him well, it might even have aroused you in the past. But knowing that this isn’t the Arthur you fell in love with hurts. This is the Joker now, a villain who had murdered and plundered and had been on the run for several months.

Surely not enough time to have this all built?

Your eyes drift back to the crib. What was this place? Toys are scattered everywhere. The sight of it frightens you.

“My, my, dear, it seems you’re at a loss for words.” Joker’s voice was more confident now, though you still felt like you were walking on thin ice.

“I don’t know what to say,” you honestly reply, but before you have a chance to elaborate, he has beaten you to it.

“Say how much you like it. You see, I’ve taken your well-being into account. I have thought of all your wishes.” He starts guiding you like a giddy child, taking your hand and dragging you through the underground maze. It’s all there, rooms, a tiny kitchen, a few things you need for your hobbies, some books, even a disconnected computer for you to write or draw on and a game console.

But the clothes you see hanging on a rack are disturbingly sweet, their colours pink, yellow, white, pure. Dresses, skirts. You’re even more alarmed when you see they are exactly your size. _This isn’t what you usually wear._

“Arthur,” you start, but he shushes you.

“_Joker_, baby. Call me _Joker_,” then his eyes light up. “Or Daddy. I’ve always wanted someone to call me daddy.”

You blink, remembering a conversation long ago that had made you think differently. Had it not been his own shouted words that he would never be fit to be a father, after all that had happened to him and the illnesses he bore? You swallow, a thick, heavy lump is stuck down your throat and your mouth has run dry. But he rambles on. Poor Arthur rambles like he used to, but this isn’t the innocent rambling of the man you had drinks with and invited over to your home. These are the ramblings of a man who radiates danger.

“Wouldn’t it be swell if I truly was a dad?” He sounds too happy. At the same time he looks at you sharply, daring you to disagree. And so you nod slowly, though heavy your doubt at this point may be.

But what he says next really twists your guts.

“And you can make me one.”

He starts laughing as he says it. And you nod again, not certain what else there is for you to do. His tone turns sweet again, as if he’s coddling you. “My sweet little doll can finally have her wish fulfilled,” his sing-song voice sends shivers down your spine. Whatever Arthur has in mind, it’s no good.

Your eyes shift back to the crib and inside your mind it clicks. He says he wants to be a father. But with all the toys and dresses you’ve seen you wonder if he truly will make you the mother, or if you’re going to be the child instead.

\--

It creeps in slowly. Arthur’s deft fingers work wonders on your hair, which grows longer now that you’re stuck with him. He takes pleasure in brushing your hair, standing close behind you while he’s humming one of those older people songs you didn’t grow up with. It doesn’t matter. In your boredom you have asked him about the songs he hums and if he could write their lyrics down. It’s not like you have much else to do down here.

And so you know all the songs he hums by heart. He stands behind you. His fingers run deftly through your hair, fingertips massaging your scalp sensually. You allow yourself the luxury of closing your eyes and leaning into his touch, leaning back against the warmth of his chest. That warm lithe body you’ve grown used to in the past few months.

He parts your hair in two separate ponytails. Then he places a kiss on the top of your head and leans away. When you open your eyes you watch yourself in the mirror he’s brought for you. You look sickeningly sweet and younger than your adult age.

“Thank you, daddy.” You’ve been drilled well.

Seems you were right about something.

\--

Joker has wasted no time. The day he brought you down to his safehouse was the same day he started to fulfil his promise. He was thin but strong, his member hard and long, his passion hot and burning, and his hunger insatiable.

He ravishes you, though you can’t remember if you ever told him to stop him or whether you encouraged him. You’ve lost track of time. The only thing you know is that quite soon after he brought you to your new home, you grew round with child and his hunger for you increased. But as soon as your son was born, his temper tantrums died down and another side took over. Joker started to slowly morph back into the Arthur you had fallen for.

It makes hating him more than difficult. Your resolve slowly fades. Especially when you see him struggling to put a diaper on your son and hear him cackling with laughter at the failed attempt. He keeps on trying though, and in a few days’ time he’s mastered it.

One night you wake up to find Arthur dressed in his Joker’s gear with your son cradled in his arms, asleep on the chair in the cellar’s living room. An old blood trail has dried on his cheek, staining the white make-up. He must have been tired after the day's hunt, must have been knackered at beating up other human beings and avoiding the new hero in town. But still he took time to comfort your son, to put his needs above his own. And as they sleep together, they are a picture of innocence.

It wrenches your heart.

\--

Arthur’s away for most days. Though he claims he does want nothing more but to spend time with you. But you know, as he puts it in his own words, that he has work to do. You don’t really wish to know what kind of work he refers to. But more than often he returns home with blood on his face and new money in his pockets. You know he robs the people he kills. You know he takes delight in murder.

But when he’s at home coddling your child it suddenly seems hard to imagine him as a ruthless killer. Back at home, Arthur’s almost Arthur again.

Except when he’s in the bedroom with you. Then he’s most definitely Joker.

\--

They catch him. This time is different from the times that they’ve caught him before and he knows it. He doesn’t get the chance to escape within the time limit he’s set for himself. He gives away your location for free, more than willingly. He tells the police officers where to look for you and the kids and stresses that they should have a look as _quickly _as possible. Apparently he’s afraid you will run out of food.

Or diapers.

You don’t know what it is exactly that he has said to them. All you know is that when the police arrive they easily find the entrance to the hidden underground chambers. You hear the strange voices on the staircase down. Not Arthur, you think alarmed. But then you hear one voice louder than the others, closer to you. “The bastard was right. There’s a whole maze down here.” And you instantly know Arthur has given your location away.

But whether you are saved, you haven’t decided yet.

The police take you outside for the first time in years. Your toddler son is on your hand, proudly walking – as he insisted he would- and your baby girl is on your arm. You flinch against the light and once your eyes adapt to the brightness of the grey outside sky, you realise that there’s more light source than just the one. Flashes brighten your vision, coming from ahead of you. A crowd has gathered, pushing and elbowing each other from behind the red tape. To her credit, your daughter doesn’t cry. To his credit, your son just tightens his grip on your hand.

“Where’s daddy?” he asks, and you force back a choked sob.

You have no time to reply because unfamiliar men and women wearing emergency uniforms guide you out of the news reporters and paparazzi’s sight. You hear several voices call out for a spokesman. Someone you don’t know and have never seen before talks to them. And that’s that.

You and your children are brought into an ambulance and checked whilst the vehicle drives away.

\--

It is several weeks after you were freed. The government is involved now, the mayor is eager to show his support. You asked not to return home to your parents. You have a new life now and you don’t think you’re quite ready yet.

So now you’re staying in the care of the Wayne family, in one of their pretty houses, with a nice old lady who acts as your housekeeper and a twenty-four-seven emergency number pinned on the cardboard next to the phone in case you feel the need to talk, about anything. Preferably about your time spent with _him_.

You look at the printed photographs in front of you. There’s the cellar, the underground living room, the crib. You told the officers everything they might wish to know. Perhaps more than they would have liked.

It’s weeks since they caught him and weeks since they found you, yet you haven’t seen him in person. You’ve only seen the coverages on the news, but try to avoid them nowadays. Arthur’s gone from killer clown to something much, _much worse._

At least they corrected the initial report about you. They talk about two kids now. Two kids and one unfortunate young woman who fell into the Joker's hands. But you’re not happy that the whole world now knows that the Joker kept you in his clutches. You, a university student, a supposed-to-be-clever girl, dressed like a doll and reduced to….

Well, you rather not think of that.

You sigh and let your eyes wander to your two children. Two gorgeous children with no faults that you could name. They had all their little fingers and toes. They had bright smiles, sparks of joy in their eyes and a charm that made anyone who saw them fall in love with them instantly. The officers, detectives and pretty much anyone else who was put on the case loved to entertain them. They’d quickly grown to be everyone’s favourite.

_It's hard to imagine these are his kids_, you had heard one of the policemen say.

You smile and sigh, a silent promise made then and there to keep them safe no matter what. You know Arthur has asked to see you, and the kids have asked for their father.

How would Arthur be coping now? You wonder. How would he prepare for the trial that was about the come. One with new evidence to damn him. One that, perhaps this time, he could not escape from?

You look at the pictures on the table in front of you. Photographs of the crime scene. _Evidence_.

Would they damn Arthur, or would they damn the Joker instead?


End file.
